In the drink

In the drink

Everyone is in the drink --
laboring to keep their heads above water;

no piece of solid real estate
in this vast sea of illusion

upon which to make a stand,
gain a foothold -- a perspective, stability, bearings.

Some are swift and fancy swimmers,
others fat and lightly floating,

some sink like stones but,
everyone, everyone is in the drink,

paddling about, waiting for the One
Who walks upon water;

Who surveys the horizon and sets the course;
Who offers navigation, buoyancy, consolation;

truth, hope, explanation.
Be kind, o child, and dubious,

studious and soft-spoken;
be clear-headed, one-pointed, alert.

O child of God, everyone is in the drink
until they drown in the Ocean of Love.

The pitch and spell

 The pitch and spell                                                                                   
 
Viewing the world from Your attic window,
I soon turn back down the stairs
 
into the hollows of the house.
Out there, I am ever a rube falling
 
for the pitch and spell of a barker.
Sophistication comes from the Greek word
 
sophia, meaning wisdom. 
Its modern definition is worldliness;
 
its current synonym – Godlessness; 
its antonyms – innocence and faith.
 
Lord, set me apart from the cheap wisdom
of sophistication, the invalidity of worldly ways,
 
finding my strength and wisdom solely
in the sanctity of Your eternal Presence.
 
O child of God, to learn the ways of the world
is to uncover the bright trappings of despair.

Sweet solace

Sweet solace

Candles guttering, bottles empty,
the littered table abandoned;

bellies full; throats raspy with song --
one more, one more and still yet, one more --

companions reluctant to end the night.
Longing for God is the same fire

as solace found
in the impermanence of existence;

in the impermanence of the self;
solace, sweet solace found

in the ethereal and illusory,
in abdication and surrender,

in the structure and promise,
the poetry and majesty of the game itself;

found by faith and grace, solace
by faith and grace, grace always there,

always there -- all there ever was 
and all there ever will be.

O child of God, longing and solace are the same fire
taken from the One eternal, ever-abundant Source.

Body language

Body language                                                                              

Men’s daily lives will be

the living precept (You promise).

The words I have not spoken

will come to life in them. 

Meanwhile, I study body languages

of myself and other lovers of Your seven bodies,

searching, inside and out,

for the birth of words for years unspoken  

yet, shaped a lifetime on earth, on earth,

o Emmanuel, Emmanuel.

Await the living, breathing words among us,

precepts sown by silence –

evidential change, redemption, salvation.

Your only miracle, You said – to change the human heart.

Scholars scour the words you left behind.

I search for words You left unsaid,

in myself and others – to become the words,

to become the words You left unsaid.

O child of God, let it be, let it happen.  Let it be,

leave it alone.  Undisturbed; undisturbed.

Even your bones

Even your bones

By daily loss, the Way is gained,
the masters say, loss upon loss 

until at last comes rest.  Everything to God belongs 
when you own nothing,

inside and out -- from your endless, fleeting thoughts
to the mighty, roaring stars, the heart's collapse,

the soul's painful duties -- nothing
for your shoulders to bear, even your bones

belong to Him and the clinging flesh, the fallen sparrow,
the numbered hairs, the firmament and the depths.

The world is won by those who let it go!
Let God snatch it from your hands, heart

and head, strip you of the illusion 
of attachment and limitation.  

Acquiesce, o lover, the masters say.  
Surrounded by God, come out -- hands up and empty,

your heart an open palm, your head
a flowing stream laid at the Master's feet.

O child of God, -- but, when you try and try
the world is, then, beyond the winning.

(drawing by Rich Panico)

The great disrobing

The great disrobing

Honor the sadra beneath the glass,
far from the flesh it touched,

the Reality, even farther;
beyond form and farther still 

until you reach your own immortality.
Honor the sadra beneath the glass,

flesh hovering gently without
the safe, smooth surfaces 

but, in the spirit, treat it roughly --
a stepping stone or, makeshift sail,

a knotted escape out the window,
a hastily wound turban in the noonday sun.

Taken from His body to aid in the great disrobing,
the nakedness it must all come down to,

a sadra should not only bend the knee
but break the heart and let the grace flow

from every deep and chambered encounter
with the One Who remains beyond ever

the reach of symbol, ritual, sanctification,
sentimentality and every palpable form.

O child of God, bow down to the holiness
within your own chest.

(photo by Chris Barker)